Everyone Loves a Hero
by Phantom-Phreak-454
Summary: We all have our ideas of what happened after the fateful 'Don Juan Triumphant'. Now, here is mine. An E/C romance, with some R/C. Takes place after the fire, and several months afterwards. Based off the 2004 movie/musical, with touches of Leroux and Kay.
1. Learn to be Lonely

Everyone Loves a Hero

Chapter One - Learn to be Lonely

I've often heard people say, 'when you are in love, time means nothing.' Of course, none of these people have ever said it to my face. I've just heard it. I just know. When I hear them speak that, I cannot help but wonder... what if it were the opposite? What if you are heart broken, and lonely? What does time mean then? Freedom? Happiness? Emptiness? As I look back over the shattered remnants of my past, only one word comes to mind. Agony. Time wears and tears at you quicker than any cliffs by the sea. Time slips into infinity, like water through closed hands, always finding a way out… Time is nothing. Time is Hell.

I can still feel the ashes, choking my lungs, filling my mouth. The air is stifling. But I feel no pain. I feel no need for air, no need for water. I am numb. Cold. No heat can touch me. Even the mob, whose cries continue to echo through my head, are nothing. Their torches let nothing escape the hungry flames. I cannot see this, but I can hear it. The darkness around me is empty. Something warm and sticky slides down my chest; I must be bleeding… But I don't feel it. All I feel is my exhaustion, weighing me down into nothing. Wearily, I close my eyes, and let the fight end. For I am sick of fighting, and sick of myself. I am done. I am nothing. I am nobody.

"Erik?" No, I already told you, I am nobody. Who is this 'Erik' you speak of? "Erik Destler?" Ouch. Something collided with my cheek. I suppose, since I can't actually feel it, it is more of a natural reaction to say "ouch", just as is it natural to say "yeuch" or to scream. Light is trying to pierce my closed eyes. My feeble arm lifts, shielding my poor face from the torch light. "Erik." It isn't a question anymore. This man does not know I am a nobody yet, then. But my former name never stops, so I do the one thing I can think of. "What?" The man on his knees beside me starts. I hear a pause, a hesitance to go on… My dry tongue licks at my chapped lips, responding to the ash and the filth that covers them.

"Erik, what happened?" Well, obviously this person had not been around long. Do I even know them? My mind decides to play it safe. "I fell asleep."

The quiet scoff from beside me does not anger me. My 'story' is weak. He had every right to laugh. "You fell asleep? Did the Opera House go crashing down when it's puppeteer finally slept?"

Who _was_ this man? Something hot licks faintly at my heart. My anger. It was then that I realize how vulnerable I am. An inhuman snarl tears it's way past my chapped lips, and I scramble away from the torch light, my eyes opening along with my mouth. He laughs. "Always the same." My mind beings to whir. He is Persian. His voice and face say that. He is not part of the mob - he would have killed me by now. He sees my struggle for recognition.

"You do not forget me already, Erik? Have you forgotten your-" Angel.

The word slips into my mind. Poison fills my mouth, and I turn away to retch harshly, clutching at the dry walls for support.

"Nadir Khan."

How hoarse my voice is! My manipulative, dangerous tool sounds ugly, like a toad… Like Carlotta. Desperately, I suck down air, hissing much of it back out when the same hand that slapped me touches my shoulder briefly. "Why are you here?" Again, the pause, as though he doesn't know why he is there either.

"I came to find you… after all these years. I came to see what life has made of you. It isn't easy finding you, you know. I-" He stops when I bunch my shoulders, as though his words are angry.

"Are you happy with what you find?" I asked quietly, too afraid to turn and look at him. Coward. "Are you satisfied to see that I have lived up to everyone's expectations of being a freak? A monster?"

Nadir is at a loss for words. Exhaustion pulls me to the floor again, though I am careful to avoid my pool of vomit. "I have been a fool, Nadir. I have been a mad fool in love. And look what it has done for me! Look what happens to fools like me!" I drop my head into my hands, my knees pressed tightly to my chest as though to protect me from the demons of the dark. Of my own dark. "And now… I have nothing."

I can hear Nadir's obvious lack of encouragement. No matter. I don't want any, anyways. There is a short silence, filled only with the crackles of flames from around the burning Opera House, and the crashes of wood as it trembled and buckled beneath it's own weight far above us. Before too long, it would be in just ashes. Like me. And eventually, some crazy fool would rebuild it, like a phoenix rising from death. Would anyone rebuild me? Could I rebuild myself? 'No,' I reflect bitterly. 'I am damned for all time.'

Nadir's hand is on my bicep now, yanking me up to stand on two wobbly, unsteady legs. His eyes are averted from my uncovered face. For the first time this evening, reason strikes me. Modestly, I reach into my pocket and withdraw a large, full, black mask, that reveals only my jaw and lips. I slip it on in silence, trying not to get ill all over the place again. "Come now, Erik. This is no place for you anymore." Nadir turns, the torch that he holds roaring faintly as it is swung through the air.

I don't remember how long it took us to get into his carriage. I don't remember arriving at the large manor that was now my own. I don't remember Nadir shoving me into a bathroom, forcing me to clean myself up. I don't remember taking a seat with him at the fire in the library and calmly spilling the whole story of Christine and Raoul and my life at the opera to him. I don't even remember going to bed. All I do remember are the gentle words I said to myself as I lay staring at the canopied ceiling of my new bed.

'I must learn to be lonely.'

I think I fell to a restless sleep after that.

**End chapter one! Good evening, my fellow Phantom phans! I'm a terrible person, for not finishing my other story, but the idea ran out on me. Just a few days ago, I was hit with two kinds of bugs. A story writing bug, and the stomach bug. As I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, an idea began to weave it's way into my head.**

**It is a redemption story, one of love and passion. Christine and Erik DO get together again, but I must warn you, it's not going to be easy. This time, I am prepared with a full plot which I plan to work upon. The more hits my story gets, the better.**

**Thanks for taking your time to read this! Drop a quick one if you feel the urge to. Flames are accepted. **

**- PhantomPhreak**


	2. The Vow

** Chapter Two - The Vow**

"Christine!" His desperate callings did little to abate my already lost mind. Confused, I looked past the onslaught of screaming people and felt his warm grip on my forearm, comforting, commanding and gentle. "I've got us a carriage ready." His baby blue eyes are so endearing. It pains me to think that I just chanced our love to save our lives. I nod slowly, the night's events leaving me sluggish and unsteady. A steady scream rises in the crowd as part of the building collapses behind us. Sparks fly everywhere. To my dismay, all I can picture is the Angel, his body melting beneath the flames... I can picture his screams of pain and torture, and I-

"Come on!" A small tug on my arm releases me of my thoughts, and I find myself swept along with the current of people, my soon-to-be husband desperately waving Madame Giry and Meg in behind me. The screams become muffled in our ears, as Raoul slams his own door, taps the roof of the carriage and leans back with a heavy sigh. Sweat and water drench him. His eyes are half shut in exhaustion. I play with the folds of the beautiful wedding gown _he_ made for me between my fingers, biting my lip as Meg and her mother preen one another for wounds. There are none.

We all fall into the easy sway of the carriage, the silence deafening around us. Raoul is the first to speak. "The Phantom is dead, I think." From beside me, Meg gives a little squeak at the name. But Madame Giry stiffens. I feel her nod slowly, a jerky movement of her chin to show her acknowledgement, before she is lapsed into a thoughtful silence. My skin has paled from the news I had dreaded to think of. How could he possibly be...? No. No, the Phantom could not die! He was... Silently, I scorned myself. 'He is not immortal. Nor is he a ghost. He is a man. A lonely, agonized man.' My fists clench the dress tighter. 'And I could have just killed him.'

I never found out his name. Did he even have one? My nameless Angel... My beautiful Angel. How could I have done such a thing? Tears flood my eyes. No, I did the right thing... A good thing. He has to learn rejection. He has to learn that people will say no to him. 'But what if that's what he has faced his whole life?' Dread fills my stomach, and I find myself breathing in slowly, my eyes shutting in weariness. Could I have just killed him? And if I had, for what? I jumped about a foot off the seat when someone's warm hand held my own, loosening it from the folds of my dress. I look at the hand, then the owner. Raoul smiles at me from across the carriage. He looks so tired...

I whimper softly, and without a moment's hesitation, I am across the short distance between the seats and in his arms. His hold is comforting, and warm. In my ear, he hums our song. His fingers wrap slowly through my hair, soothing me... But all I can picture is a very different man, holding me, humming the exact same song, playing with my hair... All I can imagine is the smoky smell of the stage, the musky, masculine smell and feel of the man behind me not so long ago... A sob catches loosely in my throat. It becomes a full-out wail of despair, and I clutch Raoul's white shirt tight. My cheek is pressed to the iron cross he wears about his neck. 'God forgive me, Angel. God forgive me.'

* * *

"Mademoiselle?"

There is a soft voice in my ear, a pair of feminine, small hands gently dabbing a cool clothe onto my forehead. I open my eyes wearily, staring up at the friendly, round face above me. "Monsieur de Changy wishes to know if you are well." The bed beneath me is incredibly soft... And it feels so warm... I don't want to leave my self made Heaven. I blink once or twice, clearing my blurry head. I wish I hadn't. The evening's events from the night before came rushing back to me, and if I hadn't been laying down, I would've collapsed.

"You are still looking a bit pale, Mademoiselle. Should I tell him you require more sleep?" The clothe leaves my face, and the young maid backs up. She is a pretty little thing, with fiery red hair, and bright blue eyes. Her cheeks are round, but her body is very womanly. I nod slowly, unable to move my head for fear of giving myself a head ache. She curtsies swiftly and, taking the bowl of water and the clothe with her, leaves me to my thoughts. I finally get a chance to look about the room.

Everything was pink. It was feminine, pale and delicate, like the wing of a butterfly. The scent of roses lightly perfumed the air. Soft, warm sunlight was trying to peek through pink lace curtains, the sun blazing in the middle of the sky. It had to be about noon. There was a dresser with a large, intricate mirror and vases of flowers, yellow roses, all around the room. A beautiful Persian rug, also pink and white, adjourned the floor. The walls were pink with roses painted along the edges. There were three doors - one to lead back into the hallways (I presumed), one for the bathroom, and another to lead out onto a large balcony. The room sickened me. I felt surprised as hatred boiled in my blood, and for a moment, I wondered where the temper came from. But my entire body paled and weakened when I realized just why I hated it. It was too... gaudy. It wasn't like him, like my An-

"Good afternoon, my love."

I very nearly jumped a foot off the bed, my hands turning to claws, yanking up the bed clothes as quickly as possible, covering my chest. I was only wearing a chemise, after all! Raoul stood sheepishly in the doorway, his blue eyes sparkling with his boyish mischief. He wore a white cravat around his neck, probably to keep the bruises from the Punjab lasso hidden. I smiled faintly, my grip on the blankets loosening ever so slightly as he stepped into the room with masculine grace and fluttered awkwardly at the edge of the rug.

"I trust you slept well? I didn't want to disturb you, since the maid said you were still feeling ill, but I couldn't wait any longer..." He was babbling nervously, something that Raoul didn't do often. I smiled encouragingly, and then cocked my head in inquiry, feigning polite interest. I was exhausted. I was tired, and sick, and hurting... I wanted time to think. I wanted time to feel, and work everything out. I loved Raoul, truly, I did, but sometimes... Some times, he was too much. "Very well, thank you." There was a short silence, filled with my blank stare and his nervous fumbling. Finally, he asked. I knew it was coming. I just had to wait.

"Christine, I think... well, I think it would be best if were to marry... tonight? I mean, we are both exhausted, and there is still so much going on, but... Please? It would make me feel so much better, so much happier..."

I focused my attention on the brass buttons of his neat, pressed jacket, wishing desperately that I could sink into the bed and disappear for the rest of my life. Why was I faced now with this decision? Why not a week from now? A month from now? I looked back to Raoul's face. My heart nearly broke with his anxiety. I knew exactly why he was so desperate. He had to claim me as his own. Nobody knew if the Phantom was dead. Raoul couldn't risk losing me, like he almost lost me the evening before. Even with one gone, and away from my life, they still tore me in two. I would never get away from this, I knew. I would never get away from the doubt in Raoul's eyes, or the pain in my soul of my guilt.

I don't know how I did, but I suppose I nodded. Raoul was instantly as bright as a child again, setting up arrangements and getting maids to help me dress and bathe... Everything was a blur to me. I remember nervously breathing and sweating in a chair beside the stained glass windows of the church hours later, wondering how a simple chorus girl, Christine Daaé, had gotten herself into this mess. 'But there isn't a mess anymore, Christine... You made your decision. Come what may.'

My Papa had always told me to face the world with as strong a heart as I could muster. Now was no different. I was an actress, born for the stage. My whole life had revolved around my career. Now was no different. Despite my exhaustion, and despite my reluctance, I put on a smile. A pretty, polite, charming, fake smile for Raoul as I stepped down the aisle, a vision in white. The room was divided in half. The aristocrats sat on one side, with Raoul's disdainful family at the front. I could feel their eyes on me, burning, surveying me as carefully as one might expect a room after a spider is found. I lifted my chin higher, smiling forever more at Raoul. The other half of the room was for my people - my fellows, my family, that I had lived with my whole life. The Opera Ghost was not among them.

The church echoed with the organ, and then the priest's gravely voice. I hardly remember saying 'I do', but I remember our kiss. A sweet kiss, chaste, and... Raoul. It was Raoul. I couldn't figure out why my heart yearned for the fiery, spicy taste and thrill of another's lips... The salt of tears and rage, the sweetness of an Angel... We walked down the aisle together, flower petals being thrown everywhere, cheers erupting... Only Raoul's family remained silently, coldly regarding me like a squashed beetle on their finest carpet.

Everything else was a blur. The after party, the tears, our wedding night... I can vaguely recall Raoul's sweet face above mine, his forehead dotted with slight sweat, when he laid beside me. I had remained still the whole time. It had hurt. But he had been as kind as he could, wiping away my tears and comforting me. He should not. I was his wife, now. I was his perfect little wife, a trophy wife, and I had duties that I needed to perform. Raoul didn't have to comfort me for these duties. I knew my role. I knew I had to wear a smile, and do everything perfect out in public, for fear of embarrassing my husband.

And I hated it.

* * *

**End chapter two! Enjoy, my duckies! **


	3. Cold

**Chapter 3 - Cold**

My hands were shaking. I stared at them, puzzled. The long, calloused fingers were white, clenching the paper as tight as they possibly could. I could feel it begin to strain and tear against the sides of my pointer fingers, stressed under my pressure. Why was I so anxious? As I looked back at the words on the paper, the numbness swept over me again, and I realized why.

_'Raoul de Changy, Vicomte, was married to the renowned Prima Donna, Christine Daaé in the early hours of the evening on the 15th of February. The pair wore bright smiles, walking down the aisle, to head off to their new life. Christine Daaé, aged 19, was last seen on stage in the dramatic opera, 'Don Juan Triumphant'. She was kidnapped before the audiences very eyes by the Phantom, a specter of the theater. The Ghost then set fire to the house, endangering the audience and cast members alike. Christine was found__-'_

I could not read anymore. Before me, the paper suddenly contained white specks, floating before my eyes. A light sweat dotted my forehead and upper lip beneath the mask. I fought for my consciousness, suddenly deeply aware of the fires burning in my stomach. My vision was gradually turning red. I felt ill. Rage was getting the best of me. With a great gasp, I crumpled the paper up, tossing it with one fell throw into the roaring fire just a few feet away from my legs. And then, I put my face in my hands, elbows on my knees, and fell still.

I had lost. As usual, the Vicomte had bested me. Even when we were apart, and the dangers were over, the man continued to mock me. Nobody knew if I was still alive. Only Nadir, and a few servants about the manor my Persian friend had handed to me. It had been three weeks since that paper came out. Nadir had sent me to Rouen for three weeks, into the quiet country side of France, to regain what little reason I had left. I don't think it worked very well.

I was alone in the room, darkened by the shadows of the night. The harsh wind blew against the window, rattling the frame, causing the weak glass to shiver. The last dregs of my soul shivered along with it. Would this Hell last forever? Was I doomed to a life of wickedness, and ugliness, and pain forever? I felt glad that I was not a mythological vampire - I don't think I could've lived with myself for that long. The great gape in my body stretched as I breathed in, shivering before the roaring flames. I wanted to do nothing more than throw myself into them.

What could I do, though? What on Earth could I possibly do? Christine and her fop were happily married, comfortable and warm within their large estate downtown Paris. They probably attended parties every evening, and sparkled like a pair of diamonds together. At night, they probably made the sweetest of love. I wondered if Raoul had ever laughed at me during these times with Christine. My empty stomach lurched at the thought of that boy touching my Christine. But again... What could I do? It was over. It was done. There was no more fighting. I had lost. I was forgotten. I was just Erik now. Just Erik.

* * *

"Erik!"

Go away... The voice burned my mind, as I lifted my head and stared blearily at the excited, though pale face of the tired looking Persian, Nadir. He was holding several familiar looking pieces of paper between his hands. There was a wild gleam in his eye, which half frightened me. I was too tired to care more than that, however. "What?" My voice was hoarse and quiet, as I propped myself up from the floor in front of the empty fire place, and leaned heavily against the arm chair I must've fallen out of.

Nadir was trembling again, his weight shifting from foot to foot. He shoved the papers at me, looking all the more like a small child in glee at having found a toy he was not supposed to attain until Christmas time. He did not say anything, but merely inclined his head towards the papers, the corners of his lips twitching. Would it ever end? With a soft sigh, I glanced down at the rough, thick pieces of paper. Eventually, after a quick scan, I shrugged. "My building designs. So what?"

Looking back up at Nadir, I was alarmed to see that he wore an enormous grin, stretching from ear to ear. Was he sick? Concern flickered briefly across my eyes, when I shoved the papers back at him and stood up. "So what? Erik, this is amazing!" I grunted, picking up a crystal container, containing a fiery looking liquid. The scent of the brandy burned my nose and throat as I poured some into a glass and swallowed it in one go. "You could start your own business! People would buy these from all over the world! I mean, look at this one."

He shoved another paper at me, and I allowed my eyes to flicker briefly across it's surface, before shrugging again. "So? I've got everything I could possibly want right now. I don't need a job to weigh me down." That was a lie. A huge, fat, in-your-face lie. I had nothing that I wanted. I had nothing to account myself for, nothing that would put me in the history books (not that I wanted to be famous, or infamous, as it were). Nothing to keep me happy. Nadir saw through my lie instantly, of course. He snorted in a scoffing tone, snatching the paper back from me.

"Shut up, Erik. I'm going to run this business. You will be the owner, and the designer, but I will do everything else. We can share the money we make. It's so simple, Erik! Just think about it!"

The crystal container, full of brandy, smashed at my feet.

"I have been thinking all my life! I have done nothing but thinking! And do you know where it has gotten me? At the bottom of some wretched, damned hole! Lower than the most disgusting of creatures! Lower than dirt!" My voice was a snarl, fury lighting my features. Poor Nadir. He had paled considerably, staring at my leering eyes and sneering mouth. "I am done with thinking! I am tired of it! Go ahead and run this damned business. I'll do what you want of me, but don't ask me to think about it!"

Exhaustion was suddenly pulling me back to my chair. I sank into it, shaking, sweating, staring at the dead fire place. I felt ill again. The whole room smelt of brandy, which was soaked into the carpet. I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder, followed by Nadir's soft voice caressing the air around me.

"We start tomorrow."

* * *

"You look beautiful, darling."

Raoul stood at my shoulder, meeting my gaze in the mirror. I had just finished applying a layer of soft make up, just to brighten my features a bit. I smiled at him, reaching up to hold his hand. "And you look quite handsome, my husband." I could see Raoul's smile in the mirror, as he pressed a swift kiss to my cheek then led me towards the door. Out before the manor, a carriage awaited us.

"Who are we seeing tonight, Raoul?" My voice was soft, but inquiring, as he helped me up into the carriage, only to climb in after me and shut the door. With a soft tap on the roof, the carriage jolted forward smoothly and we settled into the sway of it, speaking in quiet tones.

"Monsieur Renaldi and his wife. It is a gathering of business men and the upper class alike." I nodded slowly, the folds of my dress slipping between my gloved fingers. When we arrived, the whole place was already swarming. Men and women, dressed in their finest clothes, laughed and shared jokes. Champagne was flowing, the music was lifting, and the dancing was a sight to behold. I was sick of it. I smiled to everyone Raoul introduced me to, shared laughs with the women, listened in on the gossip with closed ears, and drank champagne, as was expected of me.

"And then, the poor fellow... He was confronted in the street by the blind priest, begging for money!" The group I was standing with erupted into laughter. Beside me, Raoul laughed softly. I could only find it in myself to smile. A fake, cheap smile. It was disgusting, the things these people talked about! If I could find that blind priest, I would surely hand him enough money to-

Everyone's attention was dragged towards a man of about 45 years, standing on the grand, sweeping staircase of the front hall. He was holding a glass of champagne in one hand, and a fork in the other. Beside him was a large canvas, covered in a gray clothe. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen." He paused, allowing people to mumble a 'good evening' back, before pressing on. "As you all know, Paris is renowned for it's grand buildings, and splendorous sights. But never has Paris seen something as magnificent as this!" The man (who was Persian) yanked the gray clothe off the canvas, allowing it to flutter to the floor dramatically.

Gasps and sighs of wonder went up around the whole place. I myself, found my amazement poured fully into that drawing. The rough sketch was one of the most beautiful buildings I had ever seen designed. Beside the canvas, the Persian man was smiling. From all around us, I could hear snippets of conversation. 'I've always wanted a new summer home...' or 'My God, would you look at that!'. I could've sworn, at that second, that the man's eyes flickered across my face, and that his brow furrowed with a slight recognition, before looking away again.

"I am pleased to announce that Sir Erik Gerard Destler will be designing and selling these pieces of art to those of the upper class. Our team of special builders will work to get the job done. Our head quarters is located on..." The man's voice disappeared in my head, as I stared at the drawing again. Erik. What a name... Scandinavian, I think. And Gerard. Scottish, no doubt. Destler, French? In my mind, I could picture a stuffy, lazy man of 60, drawing out these pictures with a shaking hand. But immediately, the thought left my head. No, the drawing was too beautiful... Perhaps a young, beautiful man, who had many women to call upon. I gave a secret sigh of longing. My heart yearned to meet the genius.

I soon realized that the Persian had left, the canvas still standing in his place. There was loud conversation from all around us. Raoul must've thought I was tired, for he excused us about five minutes later, and we left bearing the de Changy crest on our carriage again. My mind was still buzzing with the picture, when Raoul smiled. "A summer home. That Renaldi fellow certainly had a wonderful idea. Would that please you, Christine?" Joy leapt into my heart. I found myself nodding, and smiling a real smile for the first time in weeks. "It would. It most certainly would." Who was this beautiful artist? I could not wait to meet him...

* * *

**Dum dum duhhhhh! What will happen next? Stay tuned for the next chapter!**


End file.
